


Day 19: Wings of Glass

by whatsanapocalae



Series: Inktober 2018 [10]
Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Powerlessness, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 12:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsanapocalae/pseuds/whatsanapocalae
Summary: An EMP, mixed with an explosive, went off in Sarif's office, knocking Adam out of the window. Francis has to somehow pull him back in or fall out the window with him.Whenever I skip a day in Inktober, it's just that I wrote an original piece that day instead of fic. You can read the original ones on whatsanwritepocalae.tumblr.com





	Day 19: Wings of Glass

He fell back, the heat in his face as the shards of Sarif’s desk ripped through him jarring, like rain made from razors, slicing and embedding themselves into him. The force of the attack threw him back and his back cracked as it made contact with the wall, the black space between the windows. His head was a garbled mess, static behind his eyes, all of the wires and cords buried within him, the chips behind his ears, the port at the base of his skull, lighting up in a terrible heat. He could smell burning flesh and blood. 

And then there was the shattering of glass, right beside him, and he was bombarded with sensation on another side, but he wasn’t thinking, he was throwing his arm out, trying to catch whatever it was the was being thrown through the glass. His hand felt something smooth and cold and then he was gripping, grabbing, trying to hold on as his fingers scraped and lost traction on smooth muscle and then catching and holding fast onto other fingers. 

Jensen’s weight pulled him and he was jarred half way out of the window to follow him, the angle making his shoulder pop and a terrible pain split the bones. He grit his teeth, grappling the wall with his other hand, trying to will the pain away, trying to keep his hold. 

Jensen wasn’t moving. He was there, he was limp in his hold. 

The pain of the gashes, small and insignificant, were staring to burn. The smell of burning was getting worse and it was more than just his own hair and skin, it was the room around them. He had to get Jensen up, back into the room. 

He knew, logically, that Jensen wasn’t terribly heavy. He was the same weight as he was before he’d died, but that didn’t help. At this angle, as he tore Pritchard’s arm from the socket, he could have been a few hundred pounds more than he was. 

“Hn,” Jensen murmured, trying to get back from unconsciousness. Good. Pritchard couldn’t get him up on his own. 

He twisted, throwing his other arm out the window, grabbing onto Jensen’s elbow, bracing his feet on the edge of the window, what was left of it, as well as the wall beneath it. He’d always stayed away from this windows, no matter how nice the view was outside. They were those big ones, that were almost the size of the wall. Now he knew just how strong they actually were. 

He pulled with his right arm, trying to ignore the pain in his left. He tried to ignore all of the pain he had. He could see the blood on Jensen’s face as well, tracing the outline of his augmentations, and he knew that whatever pain he was in, Jensen was in for a dozen times worse. He just couldn’t see all of the damage through his armor and jacket. 

“Come on,” he groaned, pulling, getting a few inches, and then releasing, his muscles giving up on him. He had never been very strong, never saw the point in working out. Jensen wasn’t helping out at all, either. Rude of him, in fact. 

Pritchard considered calling out to Sarif, but he wouldn’t help them, not if he wasn’t already. He’d been closest to Jensen and he was definitely the target of the attack. Jensen must have darted in front of him but that didn’t guarantee his safety. He was probably unconscious too. 

A few clicks, a buzzing, a pulse, and the static flickered, clearing from his sight. He blinked, his own augmentations coming back on, his mind rushing and coming back to life. That was good. That was very good. If he was coming back online, that meant that Jensen was too, and his self healing would kick in and then he could come back into the window. 

He just had to hold on. He pulled, feeling his hands slip. 

“Francis?” Jensen’s voice was weak and wobbly, but his fingers were starting to move. 

“Finally,” Pritchard didn’t bother with any niceties. His arms had been straining for ten minutes, an hour, he couldn’t tell. Everything was burning around them. “Get yourself up here, would you?”

Jensen swung a little, but when he got to the wall his feet slipped, not quite making contact. Pritchard’s shoulder screamed in protest. Hie limbs were still too weak to get himself up, but he was getting better, getting stronger. 

“If you’re going to do something, make sure it’s something useful,” Pritchard growled. 

Jensen looked up at him. Just once he wished the man wouldn’t wear those stupid shades all the time. He couldn’t tell what he was thinking. 

“Just drop me if you think I’m too much of a burden.” He sounded resigned. He sounded like he was giving up.

“Shut up, would you? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but humans die when they fall 40-some stories.”

Jensen’s face didn’t change, still unreadable. “And I’m not exactly human. I have the Icarus system, I’ll be fine.”

The sprinklers finally turned on, spraying Francis with water. It was cool on all of the biting wounds in him, but it would drip down the sleeves of his jacket, get his hands wet. He wouldn’t be able to hold onto Jensen anymore. 

“Bullshit, that was an EMP. You’re augments are barely functioning. You fall, there’s no guarantee that they’ll kick in in time.”

“Just how there’s no guarantee we’ll get out of a burning building.”

“Fine!” Pritchard spat, “You want to just fall, go ahead, but you’re taking me with you.”

That got Jensen to rise an eyebrow, his features to soften. They’d only been dating, technically, for a few days, but they’d known each other for such a long time. Pritchard was just trying to get him to take him seriously, to listen to what he was saying. 

“Alright,” was not what he’d expected. He felt his mouth fall open. “You think I’m joking? Come on, fall with me.”

“I don’t want to be a stain.” It was getting hard to hold on, harder than it had been. His voice was faltering. 

“You won’t be. Come on. You can’t hold me much longer.”

Pritchard bit his lip and closed his eyes. He stopped resisting. It felt strange to stop resisting. It was what he did best. He let himself fall. 

At leas the pressure on his arm was gone and, as they fell, Jensen pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around Pritchard’s shoulders, hands touching his back, fingers lightly scraping against the leather. Pritchard closed his eyes, feeling the tears sliding out from under his lashes. He hadn’t expected him to cry, nor to feel so calm. 

He didn’t want to die but right here, right now, he didn’t think that would happen.


End file.
